


10 P.M. Double Latte

by BoredMoose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, But mostly Viktor Pining-Nikiforov, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Teen because Viktor is nasty and almost says fuck once, Viktor is a thirsty barista, Yuuri still skates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredMoose/pseuds/BoredMoose
Summary: Viktor knows enough about the people that come at his and Chris’ night shift at the 24/7 campus cafe to make out a standard psychological profile of a regular client. Between eight in the evening and four in the morning comes the crowd that is either existentially exhausted, introverted or late with assignments. No matter the reason, there was a standard rule that accompanied serving during a night shift:Do not. Engage. In conversation.But then, there’s Yuuri. The most quiet person he’s ever come across. The most beautiful one, too, which is probably why hebadlyneeds to break that rule.______________In which Yuuri is a tired college student who doesn'tactuallylike coffee and Viktor is a pining Barista who doesn'treallyenjoy smooth jazz.





	10 P.M. Double Latte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PastelBlueDahlia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBlueDahlia/gifts).



> Fuckin happy birthday I love you and I hope that this makes you smile possibly at least a little. I'm sorry this is so late, I wanted to get this out as soon as possible but today's been hectic and I've only now had the time to sit down. Well. Yeah. I suck at wishing birthday things, I'm sorry, I just hope you had the time to relax today.

Yuuri 10 p.m. Double Latte is a typical college student, speaking from a standpoint of a barista at the 24/7 campus cafe.

Viktor knows enough about the people that come at his and Chris’ night shift to make out a standard psychological profile of a regular client. Between eight in the evening and four in the morning comes the crowd that is either existentially exhausted, introverted or late with assignments. No matter what reason, there was a standard rule that accompanied serving during a night shift:

Do not. Engage. In conversation.

He still has no idea how himself and Chris got the job.

No matter the logistics that led him to serving at such ungodly hour, he keeps himself true to the Rule. He’s lucky, he thinks, that at least when he’s desperate to talk to someone, there’s still his best friend in the backroom.

But then, there’s Yuuri. The most quiet person he’s ever come across. The most beautiful one, too, which is probably the problem. And Viktor wishes he would smile like he usually smiles at him, but instead the man takes his order and sits in the far corner booth of the cafe, shoulders hunched, eyes red and puffy like after good hours of crying. He looks like he still wants to cry, but there’s no more tears left in him.

He started coming to the cafe semi-regularly about fifteen months previous.

* * *

The new academic year has barely started, so Viktor is still not used to a day-based sleeping schedule this job requires. One would think that, after working there a year already, the two month summer break wouldn’t throw him off that much, but one would be wrong; Viktor’s eyelids are slipping close already, and when he glances at the clock he can’t help but groan when it just passes 10 p.m..

He knows he should be standing straight and inviting, he really does. Instead he sits down behind the counter, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand, staring with half-lidded eyes at the door. The three present students sit scattered as far from each other as possible, all wearing headphones and not looking up from their handbooks. Viktor wonders if Chris put the radio on smooth jazz in a sole attempt to torture him further.

He hates smooth jazz. Not to mention how sleepy it makes him.

The doorbell rings, announcing a new customer, and Viktor scrambles to his feet in record time, putting a tired smile on his face automatically. One other student, sitting closest to the entry, flinches and spares a panicked glance to the entryway too, before his eyes travel to the clock and then back to his papers. Same, Viktor thinks.

The newcomer makes his way to the counter, where he stands for a while, staring at the pastries on display. The hood on his head doesn’t let Viktor see his expression but he swears he notices a raise and fall in his shoulders, like a deep, wistful sigh, before he raises his head to look at the coffee menu on the wall behind Viktor, hood falling back.

Viktor’s face falls, his eyes go wide and his brain short-circuits.

The man (The boy? Surely he couldn’t be that young, he attends college) is gorgeous. His face is the epitome of plain beauty, not standing out in the crowd, but the features just… fitting together. His cute little nose sitting right in that perfect spot for a nose to be; pink lips chopped and parted; hazel eyes half lidded in weariness, hidden slightly behind fogged up, blue-rimmed glasses and a mess of black hair; cheeks tinted pink with.. cold? Exhaustion, maybe, because on his forehead and nose there are hints of sweat drops.

Viktor tries hard to not think of licking them away.

(He thinks about it anyway.)

He stares for longer than socially acceptable and he’s only lucky that the man still chooses his drink from the board above his head. He clears his throat to get back on track and the man startles visibly, the focus of his eyes landing back on Viktor. Viktor isn’t sure if he imagines his lips parting further and the pink on his cheeks deepening.

“We _lcome_ .” He can feel his soul ascending when his voice cracks in the middle of the first word that gets out of his mouth, transforming the second half of it into a strange, inhuman screech. His throat feels harsher and drier than sandpaper. “Good evening,” he manages, _idiot, you’ve already greeted him,_ “what can I get you?”

The stranger seems immune to Viktor’s strange behaviour. He casts a quick look at the menu again (if Viktor didn’t just see him stare at it for a good minute, he would think he was picking out a random drink) before speaking.

“One double latte, for in, please,” he says, voice tired, but he smiles for the first time since he came through the door. It’s the most beautiful smile the make-do barista has ever seen on a person.

“Coming right up.” Viktor jumps at the voice of his friend from behind his back but quickly composes himself, accepting the bill and handing out the change in an embarrassed daze. He looks at Chris preparing the coffee and he looks right back at him. When the blonde is sure he’s hidden behind the coffee machine, he smirks and points with a head gesture at the customer.

Viktor furrows his eyebrows. When Chris wiggles his, he shudders and mouths simply _fuck off_ to which the other man snorts loudly. Viktor’s hand automatically drags across his own face in terror. He can feel the teasing he’ll be the victim of later already.

The man on the other side of the counter tips his head to the side a little, as if confused to what was going on before him. Viktor can only smile apologetically before taking the coffee in his hands and putting it on the counter. The faint _thanks_ that is thrown his way could just as well be a badly-interpreted note of the saxophone.

Just moments before the man can take away his drink and turn around, Viktor feels his hand move on his own; he grabs the first cupcake in his reach and practically slams it onto the counter.

“On the house,” he blurts out, before grinning his most charming smile. The silence that follows is heavy, except for the fucking piano solo that broke out and Chris’ unobtained laughter in the background. The man’s eyes go wide and his cheeks flush even harder before he manages “No, I- I really shouldn’t,” and practically runs off to the booth in the fourth corner of the cafe and sits with his back turned to the staff.

Chris has a hand clasped on his mouth, shoulders shaking as he stalks off to the back. Viktor accompanies him with his gaze, half still embarrassed about the whole ordeal and half mad at his best friend for making fun of him. He then turns his attention back to the customer, seeing as with time the tension leaves his frame. He’s bent over papers already scattered all around the booth, sipping on the coffee from time to time.

The rhythmic beat of the percussion makes Viktor need to sit back down, drowsiness slowly overtaking him. He finds himself absentmindedly tapping his finger along with the notes the piano plays over the drums. It’s such a background music, but a background to what, exactly? It’s a cafe thing to just sit and relax and take your mind off of things, but how can music that makes you think of awkward encounters in elevators supposed to help you in that?

That’s when he notices the head of black hair nodding to the rhythm, earphones lying next to his hand on the table, unused.

He figures maybe it’s time to reevaluate and find something enjoyable in smooth jazz after all.

* * *

 “You’ve totally got it bad,” Chris whispers to him in passing not over an hour later, once the mysterious man left the cafe, papers hastily thrown into what looked more like a gym bag than anything else. Sports major, maybe?

Viktor sighs in response. He doesn’t really have it bad. It’s not like the night shift attracts regular customers, he doubts he’s ever going to see the man again, especially considering how he forgot to even get his name. It’s true, he was flustered for a moment because he wasn’t expecting someone so pretty at this hour. But, that’s all that it was. Abashment, of sorts. Embarrassment, if you will.

“Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t get embarrassed because of pretty boys though,” his friend supplies. Viktor doesn’t remember saying anything out loud, but, maybe it’s a best friends thing, to read each other’s minds. The theory is further confirmed when Chris passes to him a triple venti half sweet non-fat caramel macchiato. He feels energised just trying to remember the name of his favourite drink.

“I’ll forget about him tomorrow, Chris.” He takes a sip of the hot beverage, feeling the extra caffeine burning him from the inside already. “He’s cute, but that’s all there is to it.”

“Keep telling that to yourself every time you like a guy and you’ll never find a date.”

“It’s because I’m not _looking_ for a date. I’m fine the way I am.”

Chris sighs in resignation, almost a perfect copy of Viktor’s sigh few minutes ago.

“Next time if I see you making doe eyes at someone, I’m taking charge and asking them out for you. Except for maybe that guy, if you ever see him, you’re asking him out yourself.”

“I’m not going to see him ever again. Meeting someone that came in at a night shift is so not plausible…”

* * *

“Hi.” Viktor is graced with the same beautiful smile again same time next week. True to his word, he _did_ forget about the cute customer. But seeing this adorable (tired, but still gorgeous) face makes him feel like another ten years have been added to his lifespan, just by the sight alone.

“Hello again,” he grins right back at him, not able to contain his excitement. Rearranging his sleeping schedule (still not quite healthy, but getting there) has done wonders to the amount of energy he has on his work shift, making him ready for his role of the always annoyingly giddy employee. “What can I get you?”

“One double latte, for in, please.” Viktor obviously remembers the order from the previous week, but he doesn’t want to seem to eager. He rings it up, glad that this time Chris hasn’t come to the rescue and he has a way to keep his hands busy with preparing coffee, instead of standing awkwardly, exchanging rushed gestures with his friend. He makes sure to add just a bit extra milk before handing it over.

“One double latte for…” There’s a pause at the end of his sentence, expectant. He should probably finally find out the man’s name, because there’s only this many times one can refer to someone as a boy or a man even in one’s mind.

The customer blinks a few times.

“For me. Thanks,” he smiles again, confused, then takes his coffee and walks away to the same booth as last week.

“That was the least smooth I’ve ever seen you,” Chris laughs later in the night, when they’re walking back from the cafe. Viktor groans. He didn’t think Chris was watching him at all; he even hoped his failure would stay buried only in his memory until he grew old and delusional enough to think about it as a corrupted pastime.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whines. “But I don’t know what’s wrong with _him_ either! That was the perfect opening and he just ignored me!”

“Maybe he’s simply not interested.” His friend hardly contains his giggles. “Surely, there must be people unaffected by your charm. _Or,_ rather, you’re losing it.”

“My charm is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I wasn’t trying to charm him, anyway, just get his name.”

“Maybe just ask him about it, next time.”

“Or... I can turn up my charm even more.”

“Viktor, that’s not how--”

* * *

“Hello, beautiful,” Viktor purrs, delicate smile on his lips. “What can I get you tonight?”

He was patient. When the man didn’t show up last week, he couldn’t hide his disappointment, sulking the next two days. But, as Chris has kindly reminded him, just because he came twice at the same time of the same day in the same workout clothes, it didn’t make it regular at all. As much as it _suggested_ it, it wasn’t nearly enough to make it a rule.

So, here he is. Tuesday, 10 p.m..

“One double latte, for in, please.”

“Say, why are you always so out of breath when you come?” asks Viktor, in the same purring voice, innuendo obvious between them. Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, laughing almost sheepishly, and it’s the most beautiful sound Viktor’s heard to this point in his life.

“I just finished training and I need to get homework done--”

“Training? For what? It explains why you’ve got such a good body.” He passes the coffee to the man, making sure their fingers brush for a little longer than necessary. The man blinks and ignores the compliment.

“Figure skating.”

“That’s such a beautiful sport.” he says smoothly. He never stepped a foot on ice. He never even watched figure skating. “Is there a name I should look forward to in the next Winter Olympics?”

“Well, there’s Lambiel for example, I always liked watching his routines. And Plushenko, if he decides to compete. But that’s not for another three years.”

Viktor watches the man’s back as he walks back to his table. The obnoxious piano seems to mock him and his sad attempt at seduction.

* * *

“It’s your luck to crush on the only regular we have,” Chris mentions by the skater’s 8th visit at the coffee shop. “It’s also your luck that Mr. 10 P.M. Double Latte is the most oblivious person in existence.”

“Go back to the dishes before I punch you.”

* * *

“You’ve cut your hair.”

“What?” Viktor startles, not used to the man speaking on his own.

“Your hair is shorter. Isn’t it? I thought you always had a ponytail.”

“I did. It got annoying to brush it everyday.”

“Shame. I’m sure it was pretty when you’d let it loose.” With the last word, the man stalks away to his usual booth and Viktor quickly googles _hair extensions near me._

* * *

“God, why didn’t I figure out he was skating sooner? I mean, think about his ass. He could sit on my face any day.”

* * *

The whole year passes in a similar matter. Viktor doesn’t exactly _give up_ but the enthusiasm he tried to keep at first burns out with time. He notices with practice that physical touch doesn’t do much but startle the man and other studies show just how immune he is to compliments and flirting. He keeps the jazz music though, because seeing the man bob his head to the rhythm and tapping his fingers on the table along with the sax solo quickly becomes his highlights of the week. Or rather, seeing the man at all becomes a highlight of the week.

He also works out a pattern the man follows. Every tuesday, between ten and half past ten in the night, he walks in (the earlier the sweatier, Viktor notices), orders a double latte and sits in the corner most far away from the counter, back turned to either the door or to Viktor, depending on if he tried to flirt with him or not. Also, if he flirts too much at once, the man doesn’t show up next week.

It’s not as obsessive as it sounds though, at least Viktor tries to convince himself so. He doesn’t think about the stranger outside of work, rarely on different days than mondays and tuesdays anyway. So, not obsessive, definitely not creepy. He thinks it’s much more like a game, trying to figure out how far he can go before scaring the other away.

When one year passes, he finds it’s even harder to flirt with him when he’s not alone.

He doesn’t think it’s his boyfriend, at first. When Double Latte comes in for the first time with the other man, he thinks he looks awkward and out of place. His companion doesn’t stop talking either, about anything, to which he only responds with nodding his head, polite smiles and gentle laughs.

It changes over time. Every week he seems much more responsive and comfortable with the other man. Casual touches, inside jokes, snickering at the table and carrying each other’s gym bags, it’s not hard to conclude just how close they become. And Viktor is… okay with it. He really, really is.

(Except he is really, really jealous. He wants to be the one the skater holds hands with under the table while they write each other’s homework. He wants to be allowed to at least not scare the other away with trying.)

It’s about a month later when Viktor is eating breakfast (dinner?) and his phone vibrates with notification. He takes a final bite of his toast before wiping his hands on his jeans and picking his phone up.

**> phichit+chu started following you.**

His brows draw together in confusion when he clicks the username, hoping to find out who on earth might be interested in the many photos of his poodle and occasional selfies on good hair days. He almost drops his phone when he is assaulted with dozens of pictures of a familiar face. And about a dozen more with an even more familiar person.

_[Double Latte mid-air, hands close to his chest, picture blurred, since it’s obviously taken in the middle of a jump.]_

_[Double Latte with hair pushed back, smirk dancing on his face, sweat dripping down his face.]_

Viktor sees no shame in following back and liking every single picture that includes his sweet regular. When he doesn’t show up for quite some pictures, he scrolls back up and clicks at the first one he sees. It’s a selfie of both of them, the Japanese boy smiling shyly and looking away from the camera, while the one holding the phone sticks out his tongue in a wide smile and does a peace sign with his free hand.

_Still can’t believe to be rooming with THE Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s Ace! So lucky!! #roommates #katsukiyuuri #iwillhumblybringyouthecontentofhimyouallcrave_

Viktor doesn’t waste time and quickly pastes the name Katsuki Yuuri into his search bar. Surely, images confirm his speculations and he can’t stop thinking _Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri._

He clicks the first video that pops up after Yuuri’s ( _Yuuri’s, his name is Yuuri_ ) wikipedia page. Katsuki Yuuri, All-Japan 2014, “Collard Greens and Black Eyed Peas”. He turns the volume up and anticipates while his slow wi-fi tries to load the video.

Yuuri skates to the centre of the ice, waving shyly ( _God, he’s adorable_ ) to the crowd around. He’s wearing something that looks like a suit, white slacks with white shirt and dark grey jacket, fitted together by a lighter gray tie. He takes his opening position, body relaxed with one leg bent, his skate stuck on the toe in the ice.

Sounds of a rhythmic cello and drums start as Yuuri whips his head up and starts moving backwards, fingers clicking, inaudible in the music.

And what music it is if not fucking jazz, because of course it’s jazz, and Viktor almost laughs as he turns the volume up all the way and watches a performance after another.

He can’t wait for next tuesday to welcome Yuuri by his name and see the surprise on his face.

* * *

 Yet, the next time he sees Yuuri is three weeks later, on a thursday 9 p.m., and he nearly jumps in surprise. He’s gone through the whole December without a trace of Yuuri (he’s even counting the photos on Phichit’s Instagram, each disturbingly lacking the other’s face) and it’s Christmas Eve, which means practically everyone is gone from the campus and yet, here he is, face red from the cold wind, hair mussled with fainting traces of snowflakes, melting and ruffling his hair even further. His glasses are fogged up so Viktor can’t see his eyes at all, but when he takes them off to clear them with the edge of his shirt, he notices how puffy and exhausted they look.

He leaves his coat and scarf at the booth, stripping to a charming blue knitted sweater. He makes his way to the pastry display, sniffing a little and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Another deep breath later he comes to the counter and Viktor flashes him a hesitant smile, practically buzzing with concern.

“Welcome back,” he tries, to which Yuuri doesn’t say a word, only blinks, empty of any energy and smile. “Double latte?”

“No, actually, I…” There’s another sigh before he continues with a raspy voice. “I’d like a hot chocolate, with double cream and… and a blueberry muffin with yogurt and honey and a double chocolate brownie and a cinnamon morning bun, please.”

Viktor is met then with an almost pleading gaze, Yuuri likely on the verge of crying, but too exhausted for any more tears. He can’t do anything but tell him the price for only his drink, writing the pastries on his own tab. The man seems too tired to notice the ten dollars difference and hands the money over.

Once he’s ready with the drink and extras on a tray, he walks back to the table and sits down, his tense shoulders and back turned to Viktor, again.

There’s no one else in the cafe, everyone back at home, celebrating in warm and inviting homes. Except for Viktor and now, apparently, Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s star skater. He’s heard that Japan doesn’t really celebrate Christmas, but many students organised parties with drinks and fun and here he is, so sad on such a happy holiday, alone in a cafe and nobody deserves to be this way and the sounds of Lee Morgan’s trumpet wail in agreement.

Before he can stop himself he’s already standing next to the opposite couch to Yuuri.

“Mind if I…” He gestures vaguely at the empty sit. The man looks up at him and the mess on his face is now complemented by many crumbs sticking to his cheeks and nose and a trail of cream down his chin. He still nods, before shrinking even more, head squared between his shoulders.

They sit in silence for the first few minutes, before Yuuri whines and puts the muffin down (what’s left of the muffin, anyway). He swallows thickly, throat clearly swollen from cries.

“This was supposed to go so differently,” he mumbles, fresh tears almost falling down his eyes. But he can only sniff more before smearing his nose in the table wipes.

He seems to gather his thoughts before continuing.

“I had, like, this big plan, you know. I had this big competition at the beginning of December and I was really determined to win, too. I was going to win it and then go back here and brag about my gold medal to you and you’d be so impressed you’d ask me out and I would agree and it was going to be snowing but it wouldn’t be too cold to take off our gloves and hold each other’s hands and I was going to give you this stupid CD, but… I didn’t win,” he finishes, averting his eyes.

Viktor still processes the words spoken though.

“Waitwaitwait, you-- You thought you need to impress me so I’d ask you out?”

“Well… yes. How else would you go out with me?”

Viktor is officially floored with confusion.

“I was _flirting_ with you constantly for the whole year!”

Yuuri makes an ‘ooh’ sound, as if struck by enlightenment.

“So you _were_ flirting. I was sure Phichit was just teasing me about it.”

Viktor smiles at that.

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one teased about it.”

Yuuri smiles back.

* * *

 

“Do you want some coffee? It’s Christmas, everything on the house.” Viktor smiles and stands up to walk to the coffee machine. Yuuri rubs his neck, clearly embarrassed about something.

“Actually, I don’t really like coffee.”

“Come again?”

The statement is so ridiculous, Viktor gapes at Yuuri. If he didn’t like coffee, why would he…

“The first time I came, I just wanted to order _something_ so you’d let me stay. First I thought pastries, but I’m on a diet… please ignore the muffin I just ate, it doesn’t count.”

“We have a lot of non-caffeine drinks though. You could’ve just asked for hot chocolate like you did today.”

“Right, but… I didn’t want to change my order once you already knew what I was drinking?” Yuuri laughs awkwardly. “I don’t remember what you said, but you implied you remembered who I was. I didn’t want to make your job harder.”

“You are so adorable, you know that?” Viktor blurts out. They both blush, god knows who blushes harder.

* * *

“So, what’s with the competition?” Viktor turns the last lights off and locks the back door they exit through. Yuuri suffered with him through the whole shift and it’s now 4 a.m., both a little drowsy but happy. The smile falls a bit off of Yuuri’s face at the question, but he quickly gathers himself.

“It was… Well, it’s actually a pretty big deal. The Grand Prix Final of Figure Skating.”

Viktor whistles.

“What happened then? You made it, that’s enough to brag about.”

“But… I lost. I came in sixth. Last place.”

“Yes, sixth in the world. The closest I’ve been to that ranking was on some stupid puzzle app I played when I was sick last year. And I was still only the fiftieth best.”

His companion laughs again, visibly relieved at the change of tone. Viktor continues, encouraged.

“You’re going to have to try harder if you don’t want to impress me enough to ask you out again.”

They both stop in their tracks, Viktor realizing what he just said only a few moments too late.

“So… was this just now… a date?”

He takes in a shaky breath.

“Only if you want it to be.”

They look at each other for a while, both blushing hard in either embarrassment or… whatever Yuuri is feeling, Viktor can’t tell at this point, with half his face hidden away by his scarf.

He’s lucky that Yuuri’s smile reaches his eyes.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

They start walking back together, gloves only on one hand each, holding hands with the other.

* * *

 

Standing a step above him, Yuuri’s eyes are level with Viktor’s and he can’t help but stare into the hazel orbs with intent. They’re at a far away part of the campus, the door to Yuuri’s dorm just behind them, but neither of them want to say goodbye just yet.

“Can I get a kiss for Christmas? It’s my birthday already, too,” Viktor jokes (except he’s not joking) with a small laugh.

He watches as Yuuri’s eyes sparkle with _something_ before he scrambles to the door, practically running up the stairs to his apartment and Viktor still watches when his back hides behind another layer of stairs.

Was that really too forward? He didn’t think much of it, he made sure to say it implying it was a joke. He stands in the snow for a while until the movement-activated light in the front turns off. Well, he got Yuuri’s number at least. He’ll get a chance to apologise and…

Yuuri runs back so quickly Viktor is surprised he doesn’t fall off the stairs. He’s holding something in his hands but it’s too small to make out when Yuuri’s waggling it left and right. His feet halt to a stop just before their bodies can crash together.

(Viktor _isn’t_ disappointed.)

“I got you this. I wanted to give you this when I came with the gold medal, but… plans changed. I’m sorry it’s not wrapped or anything, I didn’t think I’d actually get to give it to you.”

Viktor takes what he now sees is a black and pink compact disc's packaging plate. He reverses it to see the name.

_Lush Life, John Coltrane._

“Yuuri, what--”

“When me and Phichit went to the cafe during the day with some of his friends, he noticed that no matter the time of day, it was always the same radio station with pop music. It changed when it was your shift though, you always played jazz albums. He saw it in store one day and we thought it’d be a good gift idea. This one was playing that first day, I thought…”

Viktor stares dumbly at Yuuri, holding the CD in his mitten-free hand.

“You bought me a jazz album.”

“Well, I thought it was… Viktor, stop laughing!”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't fuckin know what this trash is. Happy birthday, it's still fIVE MORE MINUTES RIGHT, I MADE IT, BARELY
> 
> (I actually just rewrote the last scene. So it's HIGLY unedited, I'm a disaster of a human being, happy birthday again, thank you for being the light at the end of my days and it sounds so sappy but genuinely thank you yup I'll shut up bye)
> 
> (This shit is the longest oneshot I wrote so far, why.)
> 
> Whoever spent time to actually read this, thank you so much! Let me know your thoughts in the comments maybe because yeah I need validation, badly
> 
> Stupid google searches edition cafe AU:  
> Obnoxious starbucks drink names  
> What does latte taste like when you actually like coffee  
> Good jazz songs
> 
> Also I still have a tumblr and I love it when people talk to me even if I'm bad at talking back http://thetoastlady.tumblr.com/


End file.
